


See yonder fine spark

by whipstitch



Series: in which a rat has a friend [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, Unrequited Crush, YEAH THAT'S RIGHT we're giving Cornelius Hickey some fluff and attempted emotional growth, and it is still, editing? who's she?, in which a rat catches feelings and doesn't know what to do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29615664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whipstitch/pseuds/whipstitch
Summary: Unexpected kindness results in unexpected emotions.
Relationships: Cornelius Hickey & Henry "Harry" Peglar
Series: in which a rat has a friend [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175903
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	See yonder fine spark

As the ships headed north and the temperatures headed south, Cornelius grew into a passable sailor.

Mr. Darlington had reamed him over that first try at caulking, just as Henry had figured, but Cornelius learned quickly. He stammered his apologies and watched Darlington’s work like a hawk. The next few times Cornelius did a repair alone, he received only some grumbling in response. Around the fifth go-round, Darlington pronounced it “well enough.” His role was safe.

Meanwhile, he learned about the ship. Henry pointed out what each part was called and told him best he could what they did. In his idle hours, Cornelius paced every bit of the ship he could access, reciting its geography in a whisper to carve it into his memory. _Fo’c’sle._ (“Spelled different than it sounds,” Henry had said.) _Orlop._ (“Your best chance to not be bothered.”) _Bilge._ (“Which you won’t see, with any luck.”) _Wardroom._ (“The fancy mess.”) _Great cabin._ (“The manor house.”) That last one he’d never seen. He’d made it into the doorway of the wardroom once while the stewards were setting table, and he’d spotted fine china and polished silver. The officers all had beds, he knew, while he and the other sailors berthed in hammocks. The hammock was a sight more comfortable than a crowded mattress on a grimy floor, true, but knowing that there _could_ be beds, and there _could_ be china, but even in the middle of the sea they were held apart—it did chafe a bit, didn’t it?

The rules, too, seemed more for show than anything else. Stand this way, respond that way, wake up at such-and-such time even when you didn’t have a duty that needed done. Henry had looked confused when Cornelius questioned it.

“We have to,” Henry said.

“But we don’t _need_ to,” Cornelius protested. “What’s the point in it?”

“To keep everything in order.”

“So what?”

“If there’s not order—especially on a ship this big, with so many things to see to--nothing works.”

“Well, who decides what _works_ means?”

Henry hadn’t understood what he meant by that.

Ship life did have its benefits. The regular hot meals made a nice change, and the trunk where Cornelius kept his personals was the most security he’d ever had. It had taken him a few weeks to stop gathering up his good clothes into the hammock with him at night. He still couldn’t quite believe that he could just _leave_ things unlocked and unguarded and find them again unrifled.

He also couldn’t quite believe that he liked his present company. The officers were in their own blue china world, but the seamen seemed a decent sort. With Henry’s lead to follow, Cornelius and his new name made new connections. There were spindly David and Georgie, bulky Magnus, and a score of Marines whom Cornelius catalogued mostly by accent. Henry even knew men on the other ship, and made introductions when they were given time ashore in Greenland—the ginger-headed Hartnell brothers (now brother, solitary) and the grey-bearded steward John Bridgens. Cornelius was infinitely grateful. Her Majesty’s Navy was a small world, and few degrees separated her men. Connections were currency. Awful name aside, the first Cornelius Hickey had been a lucky mark: he’d been a first-timer. If he’d served before, the current Cornelius would’ve been found out long before Henry had stumbled across him.

Henry was a puzzle. Cornelius had reckoned blackmail must be a given—if not now, then later. Henry knew too much, had done too much. He’d put Cornelius so firmly in his debt that he could call in whatever favors he pleased. Cornelius had braced himself for the moment… and the moment still hadn’t come. He was forced to contend with the possibility that Henry was just _kind._ Cornelius didn’t know what to do with that. What did you do with a man who didn’t want something from you? What did you do with a man who smiled like he meant it?

What did you do about the warmth in your gut when that smile was aimed your way?

He was handsome, Henry was. He was older than Cornelius, but you’d never know it. Not from his eyes, dark and shining like the ice-speckled sea, nor the bouncing way he carried himself. Henry had a boy’s face under that beard. It was his hands that gave him away, calloused and weather-worn by years in the rigging. Cornelius couldn’t but imagine those hands clutching at his back, those eyes fluttering shut as those smiling lips parted in a moan. Oh, he would settle his debt and relish every moment.

Cornelius did his level best to signal interest. It would be good business, really, to bring them even. The Navy’s reputation aside, the Admiralty officially forbade congress between sailors; therefore, a bit of fun would give Cornelius something over Henry at last. His frustration when Henry didn’t mark his invitations was purely practical, he reasoned. He just wanted some insurance, that was all. What he dreamed of in the night was beside the point.

Sometimes he longed to climb into Henry’s hammock and simply lay there with him, warm and sound, feeling the swell and fall of every breath. It was harder reasoning with that.

\--

The day he first awoke to find the quivering sheet of steel outside replaced with solid white, Cornelius had to stare two unwanted truths in the face.

The first truth: Maybe the first Cornelius hadn’t known what he was signing on for anymore than he himself.

They’d all been sent out into the cold with shovels and picks and dynamite (dynamite!) to free the ships. That they’d had these things boxed up in that big lower deck in the first place meant that somebody with authority thought this might happen. The first Cornelius had claimed that the whole expedition would be done with in a year, and Sir John over on Erebus had told them each Sunday how they’d be through to the other side before autumn was out. The ice had ignored them both and skipped over autumn and straight into winter.

All day long, Cornelius and the rest had sawed and hacked and blasted at the ice. Cornelius’s fingers and toes throbbed from the chill, and the air so numbed his face that he couldn’t work his lips to grumble. Meanwhile, the exertion drenched him in sweat. He wanted to fling himself into a fire and strip naked all at once. He wondered that they weren’t all steaming like overworked carriage horses. Yet all that toil and gunpowder didn’t budge the ships one bit. They were trapped.

The second truth: He was getting soft and stupid.

Because when the officers finally called them in, and Cornelius waited half-dead for his turn at the basin so he could get the sweat off him, Henry had stripped off his undershirt to swab beneath his arms. And it wasn’t his soft bare skin that Cornelius stared at, or the lean muscles beneath it. It was the scars that scored Henry’s back like a checkerboard.

With luck and craft, Cornelius had kept his own body clean, but he knew flogging marks when he saw them. He couldn’t recall seeing so _many_ in one spot. Henry, kind and generous Henry, had a past. Same as him.

Something in him ached.

\--

Unfortunately, now that they weren’t going anywhere, he had extra time to dwell on this nonsense. It happened one afternoon that he and Henry found themselves alone.

Cornelius hadn’t planned it that way. They’d gone down to the orlop with Tom and Magnus, to roll cigarettes and help Magnus get better at whist. Magnus eventually grew tired and Tom had to report for watch, so the two of them had headed back up, leaving Cornelius and Henry behind. Henry perched cross-legged up on a barrel with nose in the latest book he’d fetched from Erebus’s library. Cornelius reclined against the barrel’s base and studied him. Henry had propped his chin on his hand, his palm covering up a slight smile. His hair curtained his eyes. Cornelius’s fingers itched to brush it back.

At once, Henry let out a snort of laughter. His legs uncurled, one boot swinging dangerously downward. Cornelius caught Henry’s calf before his heel crashed into his face. “Easy! You’ll give a man a black eye.”

“Oh! Cornelius!” Henry bent over his knees, his eyes wide. “Are you alright? Did I hit you?”

He hadn’t, but Cornelius liked seeing him fret. “Very nearly.”

“I’m so sorry!”

“I ought to keep hold of this, for safety’s sake.” Cornelius hooked his elbow around Henry’s ankle and set his other hand against Henry’s shin. “What was so funny?”

Henry grinned. “I just started a history. An old one. D’you know Herodotus?” When Cornelius shrugged in reply, Henry continued, “He’s from ancient Greece. He’s… I mean, he’s _called_ history, but I don’t think he’s reliable, really. He talks about myths right along battles like they’re both facts. I’m reading him all out of order, because John—ah, Mr. Bridgens—can’t find where all the volumes have got to, so this is Book Six.”

Midway through all of this, Cornelius had started walking his first two fingers up and down Henry’s shin. Henry finally noticed and trailed off. “Sorry. I’m prattling.”

“It’s alright. I can’t help fiddling.” Cornelius let go and rocked to his knees. He turned, folded his arms, and rested his elbows on Henry’s lap. _Let’s see what you make of that._ “Keep going.”

Henry moved his book to make room, placing a fingertip between the pages to hold his place. “Right. Well, in this bit, this king is trying to marry off his daughter. And he has this grand competition, and soon there’s only two suitors left. And the king has this feast, and one of the suitors—his name is Hippocleides—well, Hippocleides gets _drunk_ , like dead drunk, and he starts dancing up on the table, right there in the middle of everything. And he—” Henry giggled, jostling his knees. “And the king, he’s mad of course, so he says, ‘You have danced away your marriage!’ And Hippocleides just keeps dancing and says, ‘Hippocleides doesn’t care!’”

Henry broke into giggles again. Cornelius smiled along with him, less at the story and more at the merry flush in Henry’s cheeks.

“I guess it isn’t so very funny by itself,” Henry was saying, “but it’s not what you’d expect when you think about antiquity. It’s so regular! It’s a thing one of us might do. People are just people, no matter when they are. Isn’t that delightful?”

Cornelius snorted. “You think people are delightful?”

“Of course! Most of them.” Henry frowned. “D’you think they aren’t?”

Bless him, he meant it and he wanted an honest answer. “Not where I’m from.” Cornelius’s smile faltered in spite of himself. “Not wherever they gave you those strips on your back, either.”

Henry exhaled as he looked away. His breath brushed hot against Cornelius’s face. “I didn’t—"

“Don’t tell me you earned them, Henry. Hardly anyone does.” Impulsively, Cornelius reached forward and cupped Henry’s face in his hands. “Look.”

Henry’s grey eyes glistened in the lamplight, and his eyebrows had shot up under his hair, but he did not push away. Bare inches stood between them now. Cornelius swallowed. “I do think _you’re_ delightful.”

Henry grinned.

_This is your best chance._

Cornelius raised himself higher and pulled Henry in.

The book thudded to the floor. Cornelius let out a muffled groan. Heat surged through him, prickling in his veins as if he were a green and besotted boy. It would be embarrassing if it weren’t such a relief. It had been so long, so long since anything—

“Cornelius,” Henry mumbled against his mouth.

That name would be a problem. He silenced Henry with his tongue. One hand moved to grip the nape of Henry’s neck. The other dropped to his thigh, grasping at him blindly. _Mine, now._

Henry’s fingers latched around his wrist and pulled him away.

“Cornelius, _stop.”_

Stop?

Henry pushed at his chest, putting inches back between them. The fire in Cornelius’s blood turned to frost. His gut churned. He’d misjudged, he’d been rash, and now he’d--No, he can’t have. Henry’s red cheeks and swollen lips said he’d guessed just fine. His eyes narrowed.

“Why?” He hated how breathless he sounded.

“I don’t—”

“You can’t tell me you don’t want it.” He ran the odds in his head. Henry couldn’t report on him. If he told Cornelius’s secret, he’d be punished for not revealing sooner. And if he reported this just now—well, he hadn’t pushed him away, had he? He hadn’t. If this were ruined, Cornelius told himself, it would be Henry’s fault. Henry’s, not his.

“I have someone.”

What sort of excuse was that, here in the middle of nothing? His heart was pounding so loudly that Henry must able to hear it. Henry couldn’t leave him. He had friends enough that he could do without Cornelius, but Cornelius didn’t have enough to do without Henry. Henry couldn’t just leave him. It wasn’t fair. “Your sweetheart is a thousand miles across the sea.”

“No, he’s right here.”

It took a moment for Henry’s statement to sink in. “ _He_?”

Henry sidled off the barrel and scooped his book off the floor. “You’ve nothing to fear from me, Cornelius, but you must learn to listen. Or to ask. One of the two.” He smiled at him gently. “You are handsome, you know. It’s nothing against you.”

“Well.” Henry’s smile tamped down Cornelius’s anger into an embarrassed sort of relief. “So much for my making it all up to you, then.”

Henry’s brow furrowed. “You’d never need to do that. Why would you think so?”

Cornelius shrugged, ducking from the concern in Henry’s gaze. Time to change course. “Who is this sweetheart of yours, then? Don’t tell me it’s a Marine. You’re too smart for that lot.”

Henry laughed. “He’s smarted than I am, and he’s on the other ship.”

“Over on Erebus? You do know everyone.” As Cornelius ran through the different Erebites Henry had introduced, his eyes fell on the history book Henry now held against his chest. “The library man? Mr. Bridgens?”

Henry nodded.

Cornelius cackled in approval. “Well, now, no wonder you’ve been doing so much reading. How long?”

“Years and years,” Henry answered, smiling to himself. He hopped back onto the barrel and re-crossed his legs. “Enough that I’ve lost count.”

Years? _Is that how you got those flogging scars?_ Cornelius wanted to ask, but no, that would be too much to ask at once. He was escaping with his ties to Henry intact; best not push his luck. Instead, he only smiled. “Look at you, with your grey-headed gentleman scholar. Lucky lad.”

Henry drummed his fingers on the book cover. “You know,” he said, “we’d… we’d need to be careful, but it’s not just John and me who manage it. If you wanted… I could help you, Cornelius. If you’d like someone.”

Cornelius hadn’t considered that. The attachment to Henry had been unplanned. There was precious little to do, if they were stuck over the winter. Why not? Why shouldn’t he take something nice?

“I might.”

“You should know that the punishment can be—it’s not good, if you’re caught.”

If Henry had made it years only slightly the worse for wear, he certainly could. Cornelius kicked his heels. “Hippocleides doesn’t care.”


End file.
